


Bits & Bobs

by LiveSincerely



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Davey, Possessive Jack Kelly, i guess we’ll see, the hope is that this will inspire me to write more slash keep me accountable, works in progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21556081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveSincerely/pseuds/LiveSincerely
Summary: A place for drabbles, excerpts, and unfinished ideas.Part 13: The Run Away with Me Fic, Excerpt 2“What, did I not count as someone?” Davey says, and he’s trying for a bit of levity, but the effect is ruined by the rasp in his voice.Jack looks at him. It’s just a brief meeting of their eyes before he looks back at the road, but it feels weighted, a deliberate contact: like how it feels to have an arm thrown around your waist or a hand pressed against the space between your shoulder blades.“You ain’t someone,” Jack says, the words ringing with warmth. “You’re more than justsomeone.You’reDavey.”
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 117
Kudos: 220





	1. Index and Summaries

**Index and Summaries**

**1) The One Where it's Domestic: Davey - A Domestic Evening**

> Jack gives Crutchie one last pat on the shoulder and cuffs Racetrack on the back of the head in a slightly rougher, but no less affectionate goodbye, which is per usual. Then he turns to Davey, tips his chin up, and kisses him right on the mouth, short and sweet.
> 
> “Lock the door behind me and don’t forget to—” Jack stops mid-sentence, then turns bright red. 
> 
> “Um,” says Crutchie.
> 
> “Holy shit,” says Racetrack.

**2) The One Where it's Domestic: Jack - Late Night Work**

> Davey curls a hand around Jack’s bicep and tucks his face into the space between Jack’s shoulder blades, a long line of exquisite heat and perfect scent pressed along Jack’s back.
> 
> “Jack,” Davey murmurs, and there’s the barest brush of his lips against Jack’s skin as he speaks, the slightest puff of warm air, an irresistible plea, “Jacky, _come to bed_.”

**3) The One With the Letterman Jacket: Jack - Wear Something Red**

> “Jack, Albert just texted me—he wants to know where we’re eating after the game,” Davey says as he wanders down the stairs.
> 
> “I dunno Davey, anywhere is fine… by…” Jack trails off, suddenly speechless. Davey is wearing his letterman jacket. _Davey is wearing his—_
> 
> Jack’s mouth goes dry. It feels like someone’s hit him, hard, right between the eyes.

**4) The One With the Frat Party: Davey - The Claim**

> “Wait, David— _Davey_?” The stranger snatches his hand back like Davey’s skin has turned scalding hot. “You’re Kelly’s Davey?”
> 
> Davey frowns. “I guess? I mean, I didn’t know he’d talked about me—“
> 
> The stranger’s eyes catch on something just over Davey’s shoulder, then he takes a large, deliberate step away. Davey turns to look, but a part of him already knows what he’s going to find.
> 
> Sure enough, it’s Jack. He making his way across the room at a steady clip, not hindered at all by the crowd of bodies between him and his goal, his gaze fixed unerringly on the guy standing next to Davey. He looks absolutely furious.

**5) The One With the Letterman Jacket: Jack - Tunnel Vision**

> “Oh my god, Jack, you were amazing! That was—” Davey’s already talking a mile a minute, but it’s like Jack doesn’t have the brain cells to listen to Davey and look at Davey at the same time, and the looking must take priority. His face is flushed pink from the cold but his eyes are all but sparkling in his excitement.
> 
> ~~_He’s still wearing Jack’s letterman_.~~

**6) The One Where it's Homecoming: A Surprising Offer**

> “Uh, you mean Homecoming weekend?” Davey clarifies. “No, sorry, I’ve already got plans”
> 
> “Aw, Dave, can’t you put off studying for one night?” Jack wheedles. “Come on, live a little.”
> 
> “No, it’s not that.” Davey says. “I’m mean, I’m going to be at Homecoming.”
> 
> Jack frowns, looking a little bewildered. “What, like, just for kicks?”
> 
> Davey rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass, because someone asked me.”

**7) The One With the Art Project: Davey - Two Days**

> Davey turns to Crutchie, hoping for some semblance of sanity.
> 
> Crutchie just shrugs. "You really shouldn't have gone out of town."
> 
> "I was gone for two days," Davey says again, as it bears repeating.
> 
> "Yeah, but you're like 95% of Jack's impulse control," Crutchie says, matter of fact, "so really this is your fault. Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't turn out worse."

**8) The One With the Glasses: Davey - Awful vs. Devastating**

> Jack takes Davey’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts his head up. “See, now that’s just not fair,” he murmurs, eyes raking across Davey’s face.
> 
> Davey can only blink at him, a warm blush blooming across his cheeks. “What’s not fair?” he asks, breath hitching in his throat.
> 
> “Those baby blues of yours were already gorgeous,” Jack says lowly, and it’s like Davey can feel the weight of each and every syllable dragging across his skin. “But in those glasses they’re absolutely _devastating_.”

**9) The Tie Fic: Davey - Trip to the Tailor's**

> Katherine and Davey are ushered over to a pair of cushioned stools set up next to a tri-fold mirror, ostensibly so they’ll have the best view from which to cast judgement.
> 
> Or, really, for Katherine to cast judgement. Davey suspects his main job will be mediating when the argument between ‘an Actual Heiress’ Kath and ‘the paint stains on this vest match my hat so it’s fine’ Jack inevitably breaks out.
> 
> They’ve not been waiting very long when Jack comes out of the fitting room to model the first outfit. Davey glances over when he hears the rustle of the curtain and—
> 
> oh. _oh._

**10) The Accidental Co-Parenting Fic: Davey - Midnight Snack Run**

> They’re one car away from the speaker when Jack finally asks the pivotal question. “Okay, what does everyone want?”
> 
> There’s a brief lull as all the various conversations die down, then the volume kicks up tenfold as everyone starts talking at once.
> 
> “—wanna a sprite and a side of mozzarella sticks—“
> 
> “—get a cherry limeade and a—“
> 
> “—tater tots, tater tots, tater tots, tater tots—“
> 
> “—burger but without the onions—“
> 
> Jack winces at the wash of noise. “Hey, shut the hell up or no one’s gettin’ anything,” he shouts into the chaos and goes completely unheard.
> 
> Davey merely shakes his head. “I don’t know what you expected,” he mutters to Jack. “You should’ve asked them one at a time."

**11) The One Where Everyone Knows it but Them: Buttons - The Library**

> “Okay, Dave, up and at ‘em,” Jack says as he walks up to the table. “Sarah texted me, said you left the house first thing this morning and needed to be saved from yourself.”
> 
> “Tell her I’m fine,” Davey mutters, and he doesn’t even look up, still typing furiously on his laptop. There’s a post-it note stuck to his cheek that only has ‘LIMINALITY???’ scribbled across it in big letters. “I’m just studying for midterms.”

**12) The Run Away with Me Fic, Excerpt 1**

> “Jackie...” Davey says, utterly floored. “Jackie, that’s not… We _can’t._ ”
> 
> “And why can’t we?”
> 
> _“Because_ ,” Davey insists, because one of them has to be reasonable. “Because, we can’t just pack up and _leave_. It’s the middle of the semester, we’ve got another three months of school left, we’re supposed to graduate, and _fuck_ , can you even imagine the fallout? My parents would kill me, just hunt me down and _murder me_ if I left.”
> 
> “I’m still not hearin’ any reasons not to,” Jack says, still looking at Davey with those warm, steady eyes.
> 
> “I _just told you—_ “ Davey starts.
> 
> “No,” Jack calmly interrupts. “You gave me a bunch of excuses for not going, not reasons. There’s a difference. I’m waitin’ for something more along the lines of ‘my ridiculously long legs make road trips super uncomfortable’ or ‘our friendship won’t survive us traveling together for weeks in close quarters’ or ‘I wouldn’t trust your rusted old Chevy to take us to the state line, let alone any further,’ or how about ‘Jack, _I don’t want to.’_ ”

**13) The Run Away with Me Fic, Excerpt 2**

> “What, did I not count as someone?” Davey says, and he’s trying for a bit of levity, but the effect is ruined by the rasp in his voice.
> 
> Jack looks at him. It’s just a brief meeting of their eyes before he looks back at the road, but it feels weighted, a deliberate contact: like how it feels to have an arm thrown around your waist or a hand pressed against the space between your shoulder blades. 
> 
> “You ain’t someone,” Jack says, the words ringing with warmth. “You’re more than just _someone_. You’re _Davey_.”


	2. The One Where it's Domestic: Davey - A Domestic Evening

Davey’s just gotten to the library—literally just about to walk through the front entrance—when his phone starts ringing.

“Davey,” Racetrack says the moment he answers, not even giving Davey time to say hello, “I need a favor.”

Davey sighs. “Are you locked out of the house again?”

There’s a long, guilty silence. Then, “You don’t _know_ that’s what I was gonna say.”

_“Racetrack.”_

“Crutchie’s the one that lost the spare,” Racetrack capitulates immediately, there’s an indignant “ _Hey!”_ somewhere in the background, “and I left my keys in my locker ‘cause I thought Crutchie had his—”

There’s a scuffle of noise, then Crutchie’s voice breaks in, “—don’t listen to him Davey, I asked him before we even got on the subway if he had his keys and he said he did but he didn’t even check—”

“—well, I thought you had yours, didn’t I?—”

“— _and_ he was twenty minutes late picking me up from band practice because he was too busy _flirting with Spot Conlon_ to come help me carry my oboe—”

“— _that was supposed to be a secret you little shit!_ ”

“— _you started it!_ ”

Davey pulls his phone away from his ear as the other side of the line descends into a cacophony of indiscernible yelling. There’s no point in trying to interrupt; they’ll remember him eventually. 

00000

_Race and Crutchie locked themselves out of the house again_

Jack should still be in class so he’s not expecting a response, but he gets one almost immediately.

_jc again?_

_And you’re going to have to get a new spare made_

_fuck okay i’ll take care of it. are you heading over?_

_I’m walking there now_

_ur the light of my life dave._

Davey tucks his phone away, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in his chest. He knows Jack doesn’t mean it like that, doesn’t mean it romantically, but it’s easy to get caught up in the fantasy.

00000

“How is there no food in this house?” Davey wonders.

“Whaddya mean?” Racetrack asks. He points to the chips, the half-empty jar of mayo. “There’s food right there.”

“No, smartass, where’s your _food_ food?” Davey says, rolling his eyes. “What have you been eating the past week and a half, water and dust?”

“Pizza and chinese, mostly,” Crutchie says with a shrug.

“Didn’t Medda leave money for groceries?” Davey asks

“Well, yeah,” Racetrack answers. “But who’s gonna cook? Jack? _Me?_ Christ, without takeout we’d’ve starved by now—you know none of us can cook for shit.”

“Jack usually picks up something after practice,” Crutchie explains. “But he only ever goes stops at The Golden Dragon or Gaetano’s ‘cause they’re close by.”

Well, that explains it. 

Trying not to sigh too heavily, Davey considers his options, slim as they are. The refrigerator is practically barren, but the pantry looks promising: he spots an unopened box of pasta, a large can of tomato sauce, a lone, white onion. He rummages around in the freezer and— _perfect_ —unearths a pound of hamburger from behind several cartons of ice cream. 

Davey nods to himself, satisfied. 

00000

“You’re a lifesaver, Davey,” Jack says. “What would I do without you?”

“Die a tragically from a vitamin deficiency, probably,” Davey jokes.

...

Davey notices the time and frowns. “Jack,” he calls, “it’s already 7:30. If you don’t leave soon you’re gonna be late for work.”

There’s a clamor of noise from down the hall, then Jack appears, freshly showered and fumbling to put on his socks and button his work shirt at the same time.

“Fuck, Mr. Johnson is gonna kill me,” Jack grumbles. He pats down his pockets, then groans. “Christ, has anyone seen my—”

“Your wallet and keys are on the counter by the microwave,” Davey says. “And take a jacket, it’s supposed to rain later.”

…

“Are ya spending the night or are ya headin’ back to your place?”

“Depends on how much help Racetrack needs with his history paper,” Davey replies. “We might be at it a while.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “Well, text me later and let me know what ya decide; the spare blankets are in the usual place.”

...

“Jack—”

“And Dave cooked, so you shitheads better do the dishes, get me?”

“Jack, you’re gonna be late,” Davey cuts in firmly, holding out Jack’s jacket for him.

“ _Alright_ , I’m going,” Jack says, shrugging it on, and he finally starts making moves towards the door.

He gives Crutchie one last pat on the shoulder and cuffs Racetrack on the back of the head in a slightly rougher, but no less affectionate goodbye, which is per usual. Then he turns to Davey, tips his chin up, and kisses him right on the mouth, short and sweet.

“Lock the door behind me and don’t forget to—” Jack stops mid-sentence, then turns bright red. 

“Um,” says Crutchie.

“Holy shit,” says Racetrack.

Jack’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. Finally, he sputters out, “I u-uh — I-I d-didn’t mean—“

Davey doesn’t respond. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to—he’s frozen in place, his mind a sudden wash of static. For a moment, they just look at each other. Then Jack blurts, “ _gottagoseeyoulaterbye”_ and bolts out the front door.

Davey’s not sure how long he stands there, staring blankly into space, utterly dumbfounded. 

“Davey?” Crutchie asks hesitantly. “Are you okay?

There’s a horrible, strangled, choking noise. A split second later, Davey realizes it’s coming from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr: livesincerely 
> 
> All my updates go there first, plus some of my general thoughts and ideas.


	3. The One Where it's Domestic: Jack - Late Night Work

It’s late—the early hours of the next morning late—when Davey comes to find him.

“Jack, what are you still doing up?” he asks, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. He’s soft and rumpled, sleepy blue eyes blinking up at him from under messy fringe.

“I’m just finishing these layouts for work, Dave,” Jack says. “I’m fine, go back to sleep.”

But Davey shuffles closer, unconvinced. He smells impossibly good, like crisp rain and fresh cut grass, with a hint of something sweet underneath. Jack’s hands ache with the urge to reach out and grab him, to tuck him into his chest and never let go; he turns back to his drawing tablet instead.

“How much longer until you’re finished?” Davey asks.

Jack shrugs. “Maybe another couple of hours?”

Davey moves even closer, so he’s looking at Jack’s computer screen over his shoulder.

“You’ve got class in the morning,” Davey points out. He squints at the layout, rubs some of the sleep out his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, then squints some more. It’s absolutely adorable. “You’re gonna be miserable tomorrow if you don’t get some hours in.”

“I’ll can take a nap during my break tomorrow, it’ll be fine.” Jack says.

“You’ve pulled three all nighters this week,” Davey says, and there’s no mistaking the disapproval and concern in his tone. “You fell asleep during dinner yesterday. You need to start sleeping more.”

Jack sighs. “I know, Dave, but the boss as been riding my ass about getting ahead on layouts.“

“The layouts can wait,” Davey says, and he’s leaning heavily on the back of Jack’s desk chair now, drowsy but stubborn. He tugs at Jack’s sleeve, warm fingertips dancing against the skin of Jack’s wrist. “Come lay down.”

Jack grits his teeth against the desire to pull Davey into his lap, to bury his face into the curve of Davey’s neck where that delicious scent is strongest. Instead he takes a steadying breath and says, “Let me finish one more graphic and I’ll turn in.”

“No,” Davey says, turning the full force of those big blue eyes on him, and Jack can feel his resolve crumbling. “ _Now_.”

“Dave, I’ve gotta finish—“

“ _Jack,”_ Davey insists. “ _Sleep._ ”

“The layout,” Jack protests, but it’s a weak, barren thing. “It’s due soon—“

“Tomorrow?”

“Well, no, it’s not due ‘till next week, but I—“

Davey curls a hand around Jack’s bicep and tucks his face into the space between Jack’s shoulder blades, a long line of exquisite heat and perfect scent pressed along Jack’s back.

“Jack,” Davey murmurs, and there’s the barest brush of his lips against Jack’s skin as he speaks, the slightest puff of warm air, an irresistible plea, “Jackie, _come to bed_.”

It would take a stronger man than Jack Kelly to resist such a request. He swallows heavily, his tongue thick in his mouth, fingers itching to _take_.

Finally Jack says, “Okay, Dave, I’m coming.” He only just manages to keep the growl out of his voice but Davey doesn’t notice, oblivious as ever to the effect he has on Jack. Davey hums in acknowledgment of his words but doesn’t move: he’s already half asleep again, curled up against Jack’s back like he might take up permanent residence there.

Jack’s careful as he stands, turning and catching Davey against his chest, working one hand under Davey’s knees and hoisting him up into his arms. Davey barely even stirs at the change in position, arms coming up to wrap around Jack’s neck automatically, head tucked trustingly against his shoulder; Jack’s heart stirs and swells at the sight.

“Come on, babe,” Jack whispers into Davey’s hair, too quietly for anyone to hear. “Let’s go to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr: livesincerely


	4. The One With the Letterman Jacket: Jack - Wear Something Red

Jack had thought this would go without saying, but apparently not. “You can’t wear that to the game tonight.”

Davey looks down at himself, visibly confused. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Jack points out the obvious problem. “It’s green.”

“So?”

“Green is Westpoint’s color.”

Davey looks at him, nonplussed.

“Dave, you can’t wear the other team’s color to our first home game of the season,” Jack explains with a sigh. “Especially not when we’re going up against _Westpoint_.”

“But I like this hoodie,” Davey says with a pout that Jack can only describe as absolutely adorable. “It’s comfortable.”

Jack shakes his head. “You gotta change into something else. Don’t you have anything red?”

“Yeah, sure, in my closet. At home.” Davey retorts. “This is all I brought with me and, no,” Davey amends quickly when Jack starts to interject, "I can’t just wear my t-shirt. It’s supposed to be cold later and I am not sitting out on the bleachers all night without at least a jacket.”

“You can borrow something of mine,” Jack counters.

Davey huffs out a breath, “Do I really have to?” His eyes are wide and pleading, but Jack remains firm. The Green cannot stand.

“Just go upstairs and change,” he says, shooing Davey towards the stairwell.

“But I’m comfortable,” Davey grumbles again, but he obediently trudges up the stairs.

“Pick something red!” Jack calls after him. “Oh, and tell Racetrack to move his ass! I’ve gotta be in the locker room in half an hour and we still have to pick up Crutchie and Specs from the library.”

“Calm your shit, Jack, I’m coming!” Racetrack shouts back from somewhere above him before Davey can reply. “Give a man a second to piss, will ya!”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Just hurry up!”

He finishes gathering his things together while he waits, grabbing a few bottles of Gatorade and a handful of granola bars and stuffing them into his bag, then he crams his feet into his sneakers and laces them haphazardly. He’s just snatching his car keys off of the kitchen counter when he hears footsteps behind him.

“Jack, Albert just texted me—he wants to know where we’re eating after the game,” Davey says as he wanders down the stairs.

“I dunno Davey, anywhere is fine… by…” Jack trails off, suddenly speechless. Davey is wearing his letterman jacket. _Davey is wearing his—_

Jack’s mouth goes dry. It feels like someone’s hit him, hard, right between the eyes.

“Jack?” Davey prompts when Jack doesn’t continue, still looking at his phone. “Did you hear what I said?”

Jack doesn’t answer, can’t answer. His eyes rake over Davey’s form: red is a fantastic color on him—it stands out against his dark hair and emphasizes the blue of his eyes. They’re nearly the same height but Davey isn’t as broad as Jack is, so the jacket is just the slightest bit big on him, hanging down to the tops of his thighs and dwarfing his shoulders.

Davey chooses this moment to notice Jack’s staring; a delicious flush of pink blooms across his face. “You said I could wear anything red!” he says defensively. “This is red!”

“You’re wearing my letterman jacket,” Jack says, and his voice comes out low and raspy. 

“You said something red!” Davey insists, mistaking Jack’s tone for disapproval, his blush deepening further. “But all you had was t-shirts and I didn’t want to be cold and—and Racetrack said you wouldn’t mind!”

He fiddles with the sleeves as he rambles, and fucking hell, they’re so long on him that only the tips of his fingers are visible.

“He said you wouldn’t mind, but, uh, I can put on something else if you want me t-“

“No!” Jack growls, startling them both. He takes a deep breath and tries to get a hold of himself before he does something drastic. “No, Dave, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Davey asks, still a little hesitant.

“I’m sure,” Jack assures him, though he’s anything but. “We can’t have you out there in just anything, now can we? Gotta make sure you’re repping for the team. Besides, you look-“

_~~Fucking amazing~~_ _._ ~~_Goddamn perfect_~~ _._ ~~_Like you’re_ ~~ **~~_mine._ ~~ **

“-good.”

“Go team,” Davey says with a wry grin, looking at Jack through his fringe. His eyes are very, very blue. Jack is abruptly aware of how utterly screwed he is.

“That’s the spirit, Dave.” Fingers suddenly numb, Jack digs out his keys and tosses them over to Davey, then manages to to say in a somewhat normal tone of voice, “Go start the car, will ya? I’m gonna go drag Racer away from the bathroom mirror—Coach will bench me if I’m late again.” 

Davey shrugs and heads out the door, blind as ever to the havoc he wreaks on Jack just by existing. Jack stuffs his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Davey as he walks by, biting back the groan that threatens to tear its way out of his throat when he catches sight of his back: KELLY is stamped across Davey’s shoulders in bold, white letters.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

He’s gonna _murder_ Racetrack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr: livesincerely. I just posted an updated version of 'A Domestic Evening' over there if you're interested; the finished first chapter should be out soon :)


	5. The One With the Frat Party: Davey - The Claim

“Hey there, beautiful.” Davey turns towards the source of the voice: a stocky blond in a pair of cargo shorts. He waves his hand at a small stretch of unclaimed counter at Davey’s right. “Mind if I grab the spot next to you?”

“Um, no, go ahead.” Davey moves over slightly to make room but the stranger steps confidently into Davey’s space with a cocky, flirtatious grin.

“You’re new here, right?” the guy says, giving Davey an obvious once over. “I mean, I haven’t seen you around before and I’d’ve noticed a pair of eyes as pretty as yours.”

“I just moved in yesterday,” Davey confirms, blushing despite himself at the unexpected come on. “I’m David.”

“David, huh?” The stranger chuckles, trailing his fingers along Davey’s arm. “And why’s a guy as gorgeous as you standing here by himself?”

“Do you know Jack Kelly?” Davey asks, quirking an eyebrow. “He’s supposed to be showing me around but I lost him somewhere in the crowd. Figured I’d post up someplace visible and wait for him to find me.” Davey finishes off his spiked whatever-the-fuck, then refills his cup from the cooler sitting nearby. “The fact that all the booze is here is just a convenient coincidence.”

Davey flashes the guy a grin, but the guy doesn’t share in the humor. Actually, his eyes have gone incredibly wide, a look of sudden comprehension flashing across his face.

“Wait, David— _Davey_?” He snatches his hand back like Davey’s skin has turned scalding hot. “You’re Kelly’s Davey?”

Davey frowns. “I guess? I mean, I didn’t know he’d talked about me—“

The stranger’s eyes catch on something just over Davey’s shoulder, then he takes a large, deliberate step away. Davey turns to look, but a part of him already knows what he’s going to find.

Sure enough, it’s Jack. He making his way across the room at a steady clip, not hindered at all by the crowd of bodies between him and his goal, his gaze fixed unerringly on the guy standing next to Davey. He looks absolutely furious.

Davey’s breath hitches in his throat.

“Whoa, Kelly, sorry, I didn’t realize—“

Jack steps between them, positioning himself so that Davey is slightly behind him and decisively out of the stranger’s grasp. The expression on his face is incredibly hostile.

“ _Don’t fucking touch him_.”

The stranger backs even further away, his hands raised in surrender. Davey thinks he must disappear into the crowd but he’s honestly not watching, too distracted by the way Jack’s chest is heaving, the way his jaw is tightly clenched.

“Fucking asshole,” Jack fumes, his hands balled into fists. “Always trying to get his dick wet and can’t take no for an answer. He’s lucky I didn’t knock his fucking teeth out. That douchebag shouldn’t have put his fucking his hands on you.”

The words fall out of Davey’s mouth before he can stop them. “Why not?”

This seems to shock Jack out of his anger. “What?” he asks, brow furrowed.

“Why not?” Davey repeats, meeting Jack’s gaze, chin tilted up in challenge. There’s a warmth rising up Davey’s belly: years of longing finally kindled by a combination of alcohol and the spark of Jack’s downright _possessive_ behavior. “Why shouldn’t he put his hands on me?”

Jack’s gaze is a hot, heady thing. Davey thinks he can feel the weight of it sweeping over him, catching on the planes of his cheeks, the line of his throat. He licks his lips, just a quick little flick of the tongue; Jack’s eyes follow the motion and _linger._

“Eventually someone’s going to,” Davey continues, stepping forward until he and Jack are standing almost chest to chest. “If not him then someone else.”

He reaches out and draws a finger down the side of Jack’s neck, scratching lightly at Jack’s pulse point as he goes. Jack swallows audibly, perfectly still except for his hands, which flex and clench erratically—like he’s using all his self control to keep them at his sides.

“Does that bother you, Jack?” Davey asks, soft but pointed. They’re teetering on the brink now: any action could be the one that topples them over the edge. “That eventually someone’s going to have me? That someone else is going to touch me?”

Davey leans ever so slightly closer. “That someone else might _claim me_?”

“ _Dave_ ,” Jack finally growls out, a warning and a plea. It sends a shiver of delight down Davey’s spine. “Davey, what’re you—”

“Jack,” Davey breathes, looking at Jack through his eyelashes. “Put your _fucking hands on me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr: livesincerely.


	6. The One With the Letterman Jacket: Jack - Tunnel Vision

He turns back towards the stands and somehow manages to pick Davey out of the mass of people. 

Jack’s arm falls to his side, his helmet thunking hollowly against his leg. This is what they mean by tunnel vision, he realizes suddenly, but it’s a distant thought. The roar of the crowd, the jostling and screaming of the team celebrating their victory, it all fades away. There’s nothing to hear but the deafening sound of his pulse beating in his ears, nothing to see except Davey steadily fighting his way through the sea of cheering spectators that have flooded the field.

He’s still wearing Jack’s letterman.

“Oh my god, Jack, you were amazing! That was—” Davey’s already talking a mile a minute, but it’s like Jack doesn’t have the brain cells to listen to Davey and look at Davey at the same time, and the looking must take priority. His face is flushed pink from the cold but his eyes are all but sparkling in his excitement. His hair is a disaster—Jack imagines him sitting in the stands, raking his hands anxiously through his hair as the game rocked through its final minutes. Someone, probably Katherine or Specs, has drawn a #12 on his cheek in black marker.

He’s very pretty. He’s very close.

~~_He’s still wearing Jack’s letterman_. ~~

Davey’s hand lands on Jack’s arm, and it breaks through the haze.

“-ck? Jack are you sure you don’t have a concussion?” Davey asks, peering at Jack worriedly. “Your pupils are dilated—I mean, _really_ dilated. Are you okay?”

Jack swallows, licks his lips, blinks. 

He starts to answer, but he’s honestly afraid of what’ll come out of his mouth, so he decides a tactical retreat is in order: he turns on his heel and all but runs back to the locker room.

He needs a _cold fucking shower._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a tiny ficlet, inspired in part from a tumblr ask. But! expect a much longer update later this weekend.
> 
> Quick update: I've finally gotten around to finishing the outline for the full version of The One With the Letterman Jacket! I know people were really excited about a full-length version of that one; ask and you shall receive! No promises on when it'll be done, but hey, that's one step closer. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr (@liveincerely) if you want to see more of me. I tend to post more frequently there--the smaller bits and ramblings that aren't polished enough to put here--so come on over if you want!


	7. The One Where It's Homecoming: Davey - A Surprising Offer

Davey likes Jason Carmichael well enough—as well as one can like a person that you only interact with because you’ve been assigned lab partners in AP Chemistry. He’s friendly, does his fair share of the classwork, and doesn’t seem to mind Davey’s more introverted tendencies. As long as Davey listens and nods, maybe makes an inquisitive noise at the appropriate moments, Jason’s more than happy to fill the space with his chatter.

But today it’s clear that something’s up. 

“Is something the matter?” Davey asks tentatively, after the third heaving sigh in as many minutes. “You seem a bit… down.”

Jason lets out a soft, despondent little huff. “I asked this girl I’ve been interested in to Homecoming earlier. She, uh, turned me down.”

“Oh, wow, that sucks,” Davey says, wincing sympathetically. 

“I mean, it’s fine, I’ll get over it,” Jason says, though the crease between his eyebrows seems to indicate that this may take a while, “it’s just, I really liked her.”

“But it’s okay to be disappointed,” Davey offers.

“Worst part is, I already spent like, forty bucks on tickets,” Jason continues glumly. “That was stupid of me. Guess I was just optimistic.”

“Can you get your money back?”

Jason shakes his head. “The tickets are non-refundable, I already asked.” He gives Davey a considering look. “Have you bought your tickets yet?” he offers with a wry grin. “I’ve got a couple I’m looking to get rid of. I’ll sell them to you—for half price, even.”

“Oh, I’m not going to Homecoming,” Davey answers.

“You’re not?”

“I’m not really one for dances,” Davey says, which, while true, is also something of a massive understatement. “I’d rather stay at home, honestly. Besides, no one’s asked me and I’m not planning on asking anyone.” There’s only one person he’d want to go with, anyway, and _that’s_ certainly never gonna happen.

“You don’t have to have a date,” Jason points out. “You could always do the group thing and go with some friends.”

“Yeah, I probably could,” Davey agrees, “but it’s just not worth the money or the hassle. I mean, I’m sure I’ll get talked into going to senior prom but...” He trails off with a shrug.

There’s a moment of silence, and Davey thinks that’s the end of the matter. Then Jason says, “You know, you and I could go together.”

Davey blinks at him. “...What?” he asks, because he couldn’t have heard that right.

00000

“How ‘bout you, Jack?” Crutchie asks. “You gonna go?”

“Nah, I’m skipping this year,” Jack answers with a lazy shake of his head. “I mean, ya been to one Homecoming dance, ya been to ‘em all. I’ll probably just hang out at the house, maybe pick up an extra shift at work.”

...

He doesn’t tune back in until Jack kicks at the leg of his chair to get his attention. Davey only catches the last part of his sentence: “—wanna come over and watch a movie or something? I know you’ll spend the whole weekend studying otherwise.”

“Wait, what?” Davey asks, realizing that the conversation has moved on while he wasn’t listening. “What are we talking about?”

“Friday after next,” Jack repeats with an easy smile, tipping his chair back on its hind legs. “You and me. I’ll hit up a redbox; it’ll be a grand old time. Play your cards right and I’ll even treat ya to some popcorn.”

“Uh, you mean Homecoming weekend?” Davey clarifies, still preoccupied with thumbing through his notecards. “No, sorry, I’ve already got plans”

“Aw, Dave, can’t you put off studying for one night?” Jack wheedles. “Come on, live a little.”

“No, it’s not that.” Davey says. “I’m mean, I’m going to be at Homecoming.”

Jack frowns, looking a little bewildered. “What, like, just for kicks?”

Davey rolls his eyes. “No, dumbass, because someone asked me.”

He looks down to add another bulletpoint to one of his cards, so he doesn’t see what happens next. All he knows is there’s the sound of a sharp inhale, then a clattering BANG! Davey’s head jerks back up—Jack’s overbalanced his chair and crashed hard into the floor. 

“Jesus, Jack!” Davey says, jumping up to help him. “Are you okay?”

Jack pushes himself up on his elbows, his expression strangely serious for having just had the wind knocked out of him. “You’re going to Homecoming?” he asks.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to get so excited about it,” Davey snarks back. “You gonna make it? What year is it? How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jack bats his hand out of the way. “Someone asked you to Homecoming? And you’re going?” he asks again, rather intently. 

“Yes, I’m going,” Davey says. “Here, let me help you up—”

“Who asked you?” Jack insists. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Davey pauses, looking closer at Jack’s face, at the unhappy set of his mouth. He’d been joking at first, but actually— “Did you hit your head? Maybe you should go to the nurse.”

“Just tell me _who asked you to Homecoming_ _._ ” 

00000

Davey stills. “...What?”

“Oh yeah,” Jason continues cheerfully, completely oblivious. “He stopped me in the parking lot first thing this morning. Paid full price and everything. 

“Jack bought your Homecoming tickets,” Davey flatly reiterates. 

“I know I sort of strong-armed you into it,” Jason says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “but now everything’s worked out! You don’t have to go to the dance with me and I get my money back.” 

Davey takes a deep calming breath. And then another. And one more for good measure.

Jason looks at him, brow furrowed. “Did he not tell you? He said he was gonna ask—” Jason’s eyes go wide in sudden realization. “Oh, shit, was I not supposed to say anything? Did I ruin it?” 

“No. I’m glad you told me,” Davey manages to say through gritted teeth. “Don’t worry about it.”

00000

“Davey!” Jack greets, easy as can be, flashing him one of those charming smiles; Davey can feel his blood boiling at the sight of it. “Just the man I wanted to se—”

“ _What the fuck is your problem?_ _”_ Davey bites out.

...

“You’re the one that’s always telling me to branch out, to try new things!” Davey shouts.

“Yeah, but you weren’t supposed to—” Jack cuts himself off, but it’s already too late.

“No, go on then!” Davey says, utterly furious. “I wasn’t supposed to what, Jack? Actually do it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending to this one, but I can't give too much away, now can I? :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr (@livesincerely)


	8. The One With the Art Project: Davey - Two Days

“Before you say anything, this is genuinely the best I could do,” Racetrack announces the moment he climbs out of the passenger side of Spot’s car.

“You were supposed to make sure he was dressed,” Davey says, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose in consternation. 

“He’s got clothes on, don’t he?” Racetrack retorts. “It ain’t like he’s naked.”

And, well, that’s true, but Davey’s not sure this is much better. Jack looks completely out of it, rumpled and wrinkled with dark circles under his eyes. His shirt is buttoned wrong in several places and Davey’s pretty sure his jeans are on inside out. He doesn’t seem aware of anything, not even Spot, who seems to be supporting most of his weight. Crutchie follows close behind them, a wrapped canvas tucked under one arm and yeah, okay, Davey knows it must be serious if Jack is letting someone else carry one of his projects.

“You didn’t tell me it was this bad,” Davey says, dismayed.

“Well, there was no point in gettin’ ya all worked up in advance,” Racetrack says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “‘Sides, you shoulda known something like this would happen—you left us all unsupervised and shit.”

“I was gone for two days,” Davey responds, exasperated. “And it’s not like it was my idea—if I’d known you’d go and let Jack nearly kill himself I would’ve asked my parents to let me stay behind.”

Spot manages to lead Jack to the side walk. Jack sways where he stands, but manages to stay mostly upright.

“Hey, Jack,” Davey says softly as he approaches. Jack eyes blink open at the sound of Davey’s voice. “How’re you doing?”

“’m great, Dave. Nevr… better,” Jack slurs. His head lolls as he speaks, like he doesn’t even have the energy to hold it up.

“Oh, Jackie,” Davey murmurs. God, Jack looks awful. Davey notices a streak of paint on Jack’s cheek and lifts his hand to wipe it away. Jack lets out a sleepy sigh and nuzzles into his palm, clearly exhausted.

“What happened,” he asks the others, since Jack is clearly in no state to explain himself. “He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.”

“I mean, yeah, basically,” Racetrack says. “He drank, like, twenty Red Bulls in thirty-six hours. At one point I thought he was gonna go up in flames, he was vibrating so fast.”

Spot elbows Racetrack hard in the ribs.

“ _What I meant to say is_ , he did finally get some sleep earlier this morning,” Race says, attempting to backtrack. “He passed out in the bathtub and was in there for, like, twenty minutes before we noticed.”

Crutchie elbows Racetrack from the other side. Racetrack takes a closer look at Davey’s expression and winces. “I’m not making this better,” he realizes.

Davey blinks at them. “How are any of you alive?” he asks, quite sincerely.

“None of this is my fault,” Spot announces. “I’m here under duress. And also because Race told me it would be funny, which it is, but he didn’t say I would have to wrestle Jack into his pants and drag him around like a fucking dead-weight, which is not as funny.”

“I said I’d make it up to you,” Racetrack hisses.

“Oh, you are _definitely_ making it up to me—”

The two of them spiral into an argument about who, exactly, will be sucking whose dick in recompense that Davey _really_ wishes he wasn’t close enough to hear and _especially_ not this early in the morning. Their bickering is made even more ridiculous by the fact that Spot still has a mostly-comatose Jack hanging off of him, numb to the world. Davey turns to Crutchie, hoping for some semblance of sanity.

Crutchie just shrugs. “You really shouldn’t have gone out of town."

“I was gone for two days,” Davey says again, as it bears repeating.

“Yeah, but you’re like 95% of Jack’s impulse control,” Crutchie says, matter of fact, “so really, this is kinda your fault. Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't turn out worse.”

“It was _two days!_ ”

The bell rings, signalling the start of the school day. Race and Spot call a cease-fire long enough for Spot to start shuffling out from under Jack’s arm.

“Here,” he says, making a sharp gesture at Davey with his head. “Now that you’re back he’s your problem.”

“Why is he my problem?” Davey wonders, even as he moves to take Spot’s place. 

Spot snorts. “Kelly is your problem by default,” he says, like this should be obvious.

“What do I do with him?” Davey asks. “There’s no way he’s gonna make it to fifth period like this.”

“Try taking him to Denton,” Crutchie offers. “Maybe he’ll let Jack crash in his office until lunch.”

Davey hoists Jack’s arm more securely over his shoulders, then points out, a bit waspishly, “you know, if you’d told me what had happened, we could’ve planned this better.”

“This wouldn’t have happened in the first place if you hadn’t left town,” Spot says.

_“It was two fucking days!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> In case you didn't see, the Letterman Jacket idea has been expanded into its own work! You can find it under the title 'it's written in bold letters,' check it out if that's something you're interested in!
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr @livesincerely.


	9. The One With the Glasses: Davey - Awful vs. Devastating

“Holy shit,” Jack says, gaping at him.

“Don’t even start,” Davey says grumpily, shoving textbooks into his locker with even more vigor. “Racetrack saw me first so I’ve already heard all the jokes.”

He leans over to dig around in his backpack and his glasses slide down his nose. Frustrated, Davey has the sudden urge to tear them off his face and stomp on them. Instead, he takes a breath and carefully pushes them back into place. 

_It’s just for a week_ , he reminds himself. The thought isn’t as comforting as he’d hoped it would be.

“Since when do you wear glasses?” Jack asks.

“Since I tore my last pair of contacts and then realized I need to get my prescription renewed,” Davey grumbles. “Don’t get used to it—I already have an optometry appointment scheduled for this weekend.”

Jack moves closer. “Why don’t you wear your glasses more often?” he asks.

“Because I look fucking _awful_ in them,” Davey says. “God, you should’ve heard some of the names they used to call me when I had to wear them full time; I was so relieved when I finally convinced my parents to let me get contacts. If I wasn’t completely blind without them I never would’ve worn them in public again.”

“Awful isn’t how I would describe them,” Jack says.

“Oh, and how would you describe them?” Davey asks skeptically, turning to look at Jack over his shoulder and _oh_. Jack has stepped right into Davey’s space without him noticing—all but crowding him against the lockers. The look in his eyes is downright predatory.

“Jack?” Davey questions, flustered. “What are you doing?”

Jack takes Davey’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts his head up. “See, now that’s just not fair,” he murmurs, eyes raking across Davey’s face.

Davey can only blink at him, a warm blush blooming across his cheeks. “What’s not fair?” he asks, breath hitching in his throat.

“Those baby blues of yours were already gorgeous,” Jack says lowly, and it’s like Davey can feel the weight of each and every syllable dragging across his skin. “But in those glasses they’re absolutely _devastating_.”

Davey’s mouth falls open a little, his tongue darting out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Jack’s eyes dip down to follow the motion, and the heat of his gaze is searing.

Davey’s not sure who moves first, but one moment they’re staring at each other and the next they’re making out in front of Davey’s locker. Jack kisses him deeply, hungrily, his hand moving from Davey’s jaw to tangle in his hair, the other splaying possessively against the small of Davey’s back. Davey kisses back just as fervently, his arms coming up to wrap around Jack’s shoulders, his fingers tugging at the fabric of Jack’s shirt.

When they finally break apart, they’re both breathing heavily. Davey’s glad for the lockers behind him—they’re something to lean against while he steadies himself, the cold metal a sharp contrast to the heat surging through him. Jack drags a thumb across Davey’s swollen lower lip, then he reaches up and adjusts Davey’s glasses so they sit right on his face, having come askew at some point without him noticing. Jack’s hands are achingly gentle, but his eyes are still dark with arousal.

“They look real good on you sweetheart,” Jack eventually says, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You should wear them more often.”

Davey simply nods, more than a little stunned. _Well, okay then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a tumblr ask/prompt: 'Davey being really insecure after having to get glasses or braces and Jack has to cheer him up?' I think the original intention for this ask was probably fluff, but I had the next chapter of the letterman fic on the brain so you get something smutty instead. (Also, the 4.7k words I wrote of Jack waxing poetically about Davey's eyes will show that this is really par the course...)
> 
> Also! The domestic AU has been expanded into its own fic! You can find it under 'it's so easy (too easy) to love you.' Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr @livesincerely.


	10. The Tie Fic: Davey - Trip to the Tailor's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was about to post this, I realized that this scene might need some context. If you saw my tumblr post you'll already know this, but the basic idea is that Jack has to buy a couple of sets on nicer clothes now that he's working as a cartoonist for Pulitzer. Cue Davey turning into a blushy, stuttering mess whenever he sees Jack in a nicely ironed pair of slacks and a tie. (dear god, The Tie)

Giovanni makes a slow circle around Jack—eyeing him critically as he whips his tape measure to and fro—and muttering rapidly to Abigail, who trails behind him dutifully taking notes. For his part, Jack looks deeply uncomfortable with having such careful scrutiny trained on him. Davey tries to look sympathetic, but he’s not sure how successful he is: mostly he just feels relieved that he’s not in his place.

Finally, Giovanni steps back. “This is enough to start with,” he says, clapping his hands.

“What options can we look at right now?” Katherine asks, with a kind of intensity that Davey would be hard pressed to muster up over any clothing, no matter its quality. “Ideally we’d like to leave here with at least one full outfit.”

“We keep a selection of our most popular styles on hand for customers to try on before buying,” Giovanni offers. “Would you like to start with those? I can think of several that would flatter the young gentleman.”

Katherine smiles. “That sounds perfect.”

The two of them have a quick conversation about colors and cuts and fabrics that goes over Davey’s head, then Giovanni is bustling Jack into a changing area, his arms weighed down with cuts of cloth and a mouthful of stick pins. In the meantime, Abigail ushers Katherine and Davey over to a pair of cushioned stools set up next to a tri-fold mirror, ostensibly so they’ll have the best view from which to cast judgement.

Or, really, for Katherine to cast judgement. Davey suspects his main job will be mediating when the argument between ‘an Actual Heiress’ Kath and ‘the paint stains on this vest match my hat so it’s fine’ Jack inevitably breaks out.

They’ve not been waiting very long when Jack comes out of the fitting room to model the first outfit. Davey glances over when he hears the rustle of the curtain and—

oh. _oh._

Jack is wearing a navy blue button down with a pair of dark gray slacks and a matching vest. The colors and cuts aren’t that much different than his usual clothes, but the way everything fits is a whole world of difference. Oh good _god_ , does everything fit.

Davey’s eyes bounce here and there, his brain unable to decide which part of the incredible sight to focus on. There’s the strong line of Jack’s shoulders, which look even broader than usual because of how the vest tapers in at the waist. Or how the fabric of the pants drapes nicely around Jack’s thighs, perfectly highlighting the toned muscle underneath.

Jack looks back to ask Giovanni a question. Davey’s eyes trail up the backs of his legs as he turns, then up over the curve of his ass—

Davey ducks his head to hide his burning face. _Oh no._

...

Jack comes out again, this time in a black and white ensemble, and still looking far too handsome for someone who’s been safety pinned into his clothes.

“I like this, but it’s a little... plain.” Katherine says, tilting her head.

“And? What’s wrong with plain?” Jack grumbles. He moves as if to cross his arms across his chest, then seems to remember all the sharp pins sitting very close to his skin. He settles for tucking his hands in his pockets. “Plain works just fine for me.”

“It needs something to finish the look,” Katherine muses, ignoring Jack completely. She looks at Giovanni and asks, “What sorts of ties do you have?”

“No. Absolutely not. Ya mighta talked me into a coupla shirts but ya ain’t gonna put me in no tie—“

“We have a fine selection, Miss Katherine,” Giovanni responds, joining Katherine in talking over Jack’s protests. “In fact, we just received a variety of silk ties in a number of colors. Here, let me fetch the display—“

Jack’s eyes bug out a little when he hears the work silk. Davey can’t say he blames him—he’s been doing a good job of ignoring it so far, but the fact of the matter is that these outfits are going to be expensive.

...

Jack seems to come to terms with the fact that he’s getting a tie. He points to the array Giovanni has brought over and says, “What about that blue one?”

“You can’t only wear blue, Jack,” Katherine says, a little testily. “You need to have different options.”

“Don’t seem so important to me,” Jack says. “Blue’s a good color: it goes with everything, it don’t stain too easy.” His eyes dart briefly to Davey, and then away again. “Plus, it’s my favorite.”

...

“The red one,” Davey blurts out, and given that he hadn’t meant to say anything at all, it comes out much louder than he’d intended it to. Katherine and Jack halt their bickering and all three of them turn to look at him; Davey wishes a gaping chasm would open up beneath him.

He swallows, then awkwardly continues, “You should try the red one. It looks nice— red is a nice color, I mean. You’d look good in it— it’d look good on you. Either, really, I guess-- it’s all the same. But, uh, that’s just my opinion.”

...

Giovanni slips the tie around Jack’s neck and knots it for him with professional ease. Jack flips his collar back down, then tucks the ends hesitantly under his vest. He stares at himself in the mirror, twisting and turning as he checks himself over.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Katherine says, clearly satisfied, only she’s not looking at Jack—she’s watching Davey’s reaction to Jack.

Davey blushes even harder as she pins him with a knowing smirk from over Jack’s shoulder. He has a sudden, visceral feeling where he regrets every single choice that has led him to this moment.

“I dunno,” Jack murmurs dubiously, not noticing the exchange. “What do you think, Dave? Does it live up to your expectations?”

Davey really wishes Jack would stop asking for his opinion. He already feels like he’s suffocating—Jack could at least do him the courtesy of letting him die in peace.

“...I think it looks nice,” Davey mutters into the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this idea has been screaming at me for a while now, so I think it will become it's own fic sooner rather than later. I'm thinking it'll be a part of the Tease series, only this time it's Davey who's dying on the inside instead of Jack.
> 
> I've got a lot of ideas for this fic and I'm really excited to work on it. But, just in case it takes longer than expected to get it posted, I thought it'd be fun to share this (partial) scene. I'm also expecting it to be on the longer side--this is already 1,000 words and it's not even an entire scene--which will add to the writing time.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr @livesincerely! :)


	11. The Accidental Co-Parenting Fic: Davey - Midnight Snack Run

They’re one car away from the speaker when Jack finally asks the pivotal question.

“Okay, what does everyone want?”

There’s a brief lull as all the various conversations die down, then the volume kicks up tenfold as everyone starts talking at once.

“—wanna a sprite and a side of mozzarella sticks—“

“—get a cherry limeade and a—“

“—tater tots, tater tots, tater tots, tater tots—“

“—burger but without the onions—“

Jack winces at the wash of noise. “Hey, shut the hell up or no one’s gettin’ anything,” he shouts into the chaos and goes completely unheard. 

Davey merely shakes his head. “I don’t know what you expected,” he mutters to Jack. “You should’ve asked them one at a time."

“A rookie mistake,” Jack agrees, looking a bit disappointed in himself.

It’s a little after 10pm and they’re all packed into Jack’s beat-up old Chrysler—the two of them up front, then Racetrack, Albert, Blink, Mush, Specs, Romeo, and Charlie crammed into the back—waiting in the drive thru at Sonic because Jack refuses to park at one of the stalls after the popcorn chicken incident last May. 

The only reason they all fit is because Mush is perched carefully on Blink’s knee, Charlie’s sprawled across Specs and Romeo, and Albert and Racetrack insisted on riding in the trunk, talking to the others from over the back headrests. Davey should probably make a fuss about unsafe driving conditions, but they’re only ten minutes away from the house and he knows when to pick his battles.

“Hey, they got hot dogs for half price on Wednesdays,” Albert reads off the menu, his face pressed against the window. “I could go for a hot dog.”

“Today’s Thursday, dumbass,” Race says, rolling his eyes. 

“Aw, fuck,” Albert sighs. “Never mind then.”

“I mean, they still have hot dogs,” Davey offers reasonably. “They’re just not half off.”

“Nah, I don’t want it no more,” Albert says, shaking his head.

“Al, it’s a Sonic hotdog,” Jack says, looking like he’s resisting the urge to rub at his temples. “It’s what, three bucks? Just get one.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Albert says. Jack and Davey share a commiserating look but leave it be. 

“Well, I want the grilled cheese jr. meal,” Racetrack announces.

“Race, those are for children,” Davey says, though he’s not sure why he bothers.

“And?” Race says, unimpressed with this explanation. “Oh, and I want a blue raspberry slushy.”

The car ahead of them pulls forward to the next window. Davey turns to Jack.

“So, did you get all that?”

“Buncha animals,” Jack grumbles, even as a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Ya can’t take ‘em anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I never posted this here, so here it is! :D
> 
> Thank you for reading. Come hang out with me on tumblr @livesincerely.


	12. The One Where Everyone Knows it But Them: Buttons - The Library

Buttons is about two hours into researching his history essay, books and papers strewn messily around his side of the library table. Every now and then he sends a furtive glance to his left—Davey’s been here at least twice as long as he has, though it’s probably been much longer if his messy hair and haggard expression are any indication.

Buttons is just starting to wonder if he needs to call in some reinforcements when he hears heavy footsteps approaching from somewhere behind him. Right on time.

“Okay, Dave, up and at ‘em,” Jack says as he walks up to the table. “Sarah texted me, said you left the house first thing this morning and needed to be saved from yourself.”

“Tell her I’m fine,” Davey mutters, and he doesn’t even look up, still typing furiously on his laptop. There’s a post-it note stuck to his cheek that only has ‘LIMINALITY???’ scribbled across it in big letters. “I’m just studying for midterms.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Jack says, raising his eyebrows. He reaches out and combs his fingers through Davey’s fringe, brushing a stray curl out of his eyes, then carefully peels the sticky note off his face. “And how long have you been sittin’ here?”

Davey chews at his lower lip, the first traces of guilt starting to seep into his expression. “Well, I’ve got a lot of notes to go over…”

Jack doesn’t wait for him to come with an excuse. “How long has he been here?” he asks again, this time directing the question towards Buttons.

Davey throws him a pleading look that Buttons pointedly ignores. It ain’t worth the hell he’d get to lie to Jack about this.

“I got here at noon and he was already elbows deep in note cards,” Buttons admits. “I’m pretty sure he’s been here since they unlocked the front door.”

“I really feel like you didn’t have to tell him that,” Davey grumbles under his breath. “Traitor.”

Jack lets out a low hum in acknowledgement. He braces his forearm across the back of Davey’s chair and leans in close, taking Davey’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting his head up so they’re staring right into each other’s eyes. 

“And when’s the last time you ate somethin’, Dave?” Jack asks, his voice distinctly rough around the edges. Their faces are only inches apart.

It takes Davey a long time to muster up a response, though it’s even odds on if that’s because he actually doesn’t remember or because Jack’s sudden proximity has caused Davey.exe to quick restart. Buttons almost feels bad for him—Davey’s gone all pink and wide eyed, his throat working as he tries to come up with an answer.

“...What time is it?” Davey asks when he finds his voice, clearly hedging.

“Uh huh, that’s what I thought,” Jack says, finally moving back a ways; Buttons hears Davey let out the breath he’d been holding. 

Jack starts stacking Davey’s library books into a pile at the edge of the table, then traces Davey’s laptop charger back to the outlet and unplugs it. “Study time’s over, let’s go.”

“Jack!” Davey protests, clutching his laptop to his chest like he thinks Jack might wrestle it away from him, which is honestly a valid fear. “I’ve still got all this work to do!”

“You do not have all this work to do,” Jack counters with a sharp shake of his head. “The chemistry midterm got pushed back because of all the snow days and your essay isn’t even due until the end of the month.”

“But I should still be keeping on top of things—”

“We can stop and grab a bit to eat,” Jack offers, an obvious bribe. He grabs Davey’s backpack off the floor and starts packing Davey’s notebooks and binders into it, quickly but cautiously—taking care not to bend or tear any of Davey’s school things. “I’ll even let ya pick the place. But I’m not leavin’ ya here to work yourself into the ground.”

For a second Buttons thinks Davey’s gonna keep arguing. Instead he says, “...Can we get pizza?”  
  


“Only if we don’t have to get mushrooms on my half,” Jack says.

They walk away, still bickering about pizza toppings. Buttons takes a moment to shoot off a quick text to Davey’s sister, since he’s sure neither of them will remember to. 

_Jack came by and dragged Davey off to be fed and watered._

_Kk thanks. Did Davey say when he’d be home?_

Buttons rolls his eyes. _It’s Jack and Davey, what do you think?_

_Lol true. If he’s not back by dinner I’m telling mama they ran off together._

_Like we would be so lucky_

_God i know right_


	13. Run Away with Me Fic [Excerpt 1]

Davey nearly loses his nerve about a hundred times in between dialing the number and Jack answering. The phone seems to ring forever—for a moment he thinks that Jack’s not going to pick up and that will be that—but somehow, incredibly, the call connects.

“‘Ello?” Jack rumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

Davey opens his mouth but no sound comes out, his words smothered down by a sudden wave of bitter, scalding doubt. What is he doing?

“Davey? Are you there?”

He needs to hang up. He needs to hang up, needs to stop bothering Jack and let him sleep, needs to pull himself together and just _get it over with_ because there’s no point in putting it off, no point in pretending like there’s anything to be done except accept the fact that… The fact that he… 

He’s holding his cellphone so tightly that the plastic creaks under his fingers, his lungs straining in his chest and his stomach churning and churning. He tries to calm himself, breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like you’re supposed to, but it feels like no matter how hard he tries he can’t get enough air. 

“Guess not,” Jack murmurs to himself, voice trailing away. 

Panic seizes Davey like a hand around his throat.

“Jack,” he gasps out. “Jackie, _wait._ ”

“Dave?” Jack asks. “Hey, what’s—”

“Jackie,” Davey says again, because he can’t figure out how to say anything else. ”I—”

“What’s wrong?” Jack says, his tone spiking with alarm. “Are you okay?”

Davey presses a hand to his mouth, hot, shuddering breaths stifled by his palm. His vision clouds over, his bedroom fading into a shapeless, colorless blur, and it’s only then that Davey realizes that he’s crying, tears streaming down his face. 

“David,” Jack says. _“Are you okay?”_

Davey’s shoulders shake. He tries to explain—instead, he sobs.

“I’m coming over,” Jack says, and there’s a flurry of movement on his side of the line: the rustle of bedsheets thrown back, the clattering of car keys, soft, hurried footsteps. 

“You don’t have to,” Davey chokes out, because he didn’t call intending to drag Jack out of bed in the middle of the night. He just didn’t know what else to do. “Nothing’s wrong, Jackie, I’m not hurt or anything—”

 _“Bullshit,_ you ain’t hurt,” Jack says sharply. “You’re _crying."_

“But you don’t have to—”

“I’m coming over,” Jack says, in that voice that says he’s made up his mind and there’s no talking him out of it. “Give me ten minutes, okay? I’ll be right there.”

Davey sniffs, feeling at once horribly pathetic and unspeakably relieved. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

“Do you want me to stay on the line?” Jack asks.

 _Yes,_ Davey thinks, because the last thing he wants is to be alone with his thoughts. Instead, he says, “You shouldn’t be on the phone while you’re driving. You can hang up.”

Jack hesitates. “Ten minutes,” he says eventually. “I’m already in the car.”

“Okay,” Davey whispers. “Ten minutes.”

Even though he’s expecting him, Davey still jumps when Jack finally knocks on his bedroom window . 

He half crawls, half staggers over. His hands are trembling so badly he almost can’t get the latches unlocked, but he eventually manages to get the window open. 

“Are you okay?” Jack demands as he clambers inside. He’s dressed like he literally rolled out of bed and drove straight here—he’s thrown a thin jacket on over his shirtless torso, the bottoms of his sweatpants wet with dew and littered with grass clippings, his feet shoved hastily into a pair of his mother’s slippers instead of his shoes. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

Davey can’t help but wilt in the face of such genuine concern, guilt and shame spreading like twin frosts across the plains of his heart.

“Jack,” he starts, curling in on himself. “Jackie, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have called you, it’s nothing, really, nothing I can’t handle myself, I’m sorry I woke you up, I—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jack says, stepping forward and taking him gently by the shoulders. Davey’s frantic ramblings peter out. “Breathe for me, alright, Dave? I need you to breathe for me.”

“Sorry,” Davey says again, struggling to do as he’s asked. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid, honestly, I don’t know why I’m being so—”

“Davey,” Jack interrupts, eyes serious. “Nothing that’s got you this upset is stupid. Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

It shouldn’t feel like as huge of a question as it does. Davey doesn’t even know where to start, and the thought of having to try to explain makes something acrid and agonizing rise up like bile in the back of his throat. 

“The letters came,” he forces out. 

Jack’s mouth goes tight. “All of ‘em?”

Davey gives a weak nod. “I’ve been stealing them out of the mailbox. I didn’t want my parents to see…”

“Where are they?”

“In my nightstand,” Davey answers. 

With one last reassuring squeeze, Jack goes to look. He pulls open the drawer and unearths a stack of creamy envelopes, each one thicker and heavier than the last: Columbia, Dartmouth, Yale, NYU, UCLA, UC Berkeley... Just the sight of them sends another wave of anxiety rushing through him; Davey hugs himself against a sudden chill, his nails biting into his arms.

Jack flips one of the envelopes over, dragging a finger over the shiny, golden seal. 

“You haven’t opened them,” he says, more of a comment than a question.

“I couldn’t,” Davey confesses. “I tried but I couldn’t make myself… I just _couldn’t.”_

He doesn’t know how to explain, the feelings refusing to condense down into words. Because they’re just letters, except that they’re not just letters, not really. They’re only the start. 

The start of another four years of _this:_ of working himself into the ground and being miserable, of studying and struggling and grinding and endlessly competing against this idealized, perfected, unattainable version of himself. A version of himself that his parents want him to be, a person that they insist he must become, never once considering if that’s who he wants to be. 

He can’t even imagine spending the next chapter of his life like this. He can’t do it. _He can’t_.

But even as Davey thinks it, that familiar sensation starts creeping in again—bitter doubt, overwhelming worry, desperate, aching fear—screaming at him from every corner of his mind. Of course he’s going to college. _Of course he is,_ he has to, there’s nothing to be done, no choice but to make his peace and learn to live with…

Another wave of nausea hits so hard and so abruptly he goes dizzy with it, just barely able to keep from retching—not that there’s anything left in his stomach to throw up. 

“Woah, hey,” Jack says softly. He wraps a hand around Davey’s forearm to steady him, guiding him over to sit down on the bed. “Breathe, Davey, breathe. I gotcha.”

“Sorry,” Davey mutters.

“You don’t gotta be sorry,” Jack replies, his face full of understanding. “You just gotta tell me the best way to help you. Do you need me to open the letters for you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Davey shakes his head, like that might shuffle his scattered thoughts into coherence. “I don’t want anyone to open them. I wish they didn’t fucking exist at all.”

Davey takes a deep breath, straining for calm. Jack watches him silently, rubbing his hand comfortingly along his arm.

“I should’ve listened to you,” Davey admits. “I should’ve put a stop to this months ago. But I didn’t know what to tell them and I didn’t want them to be disappointed in me and now it’s too late, all these fucking letters keep showing up because they made me apply to _every goddamn Ivy League in the country,_ and I don’t know what to do. Jackie, I don’t know what to do.”

“Davey,” Jack says quietly. “What do you need from me?”

“Help me figure this out?” Davey pleads. “I know it’s a lot, but every day my parents ask if I’ve heard back from any schools and I’ve got to come up with a plan before they catch on and I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

He gestures at the pile of letters sitting in Jack’s lap, and as he does, he realizes that his hand is trembling. He lowers it back down before Jack can notice.

“Maybe you can help me sort through these?” Davey suggests. “I just need advice, an outside perspective, an opinion from someone I trust. Someone that will help me pick something I can live with, not just whatever’s most prestigious.”

“But you don’t want to go to any of these schools,” Jack says slowly. “You ain’t even interested in any of ‘em.”

Davey can’t meet his eyes. 

“At least one of them must be decent,” he says, in a tone that’s not at all convincing. “It’s just a matter of figuring out which one.”

“And what if none of ‘em are?” Jack says. “What if none of ‘em are decent? What if none of ‘em are right for you?”

“One of them will be,” Davey insists.

“But what if they’re not?” Jack says, still pressing. “What if all of ‘em are horrible? What if we start looking at ‘em and every one is guaranteed to be four years of misery?”

“Then I guess I’m just going to be _fucking miserable,_ aren’t I?” Davey bursts out. 

He immediately clamps his hand over his mouth, praying that no one else heard. But the house remains sleepy and silent. 

Jack stares back at him, a sea of feeling behind his eyes.

“I can’t think like that, Jackie,” Davey continues after a second, fighting to keep his voice down despite the edge of hysteria that’s creeping into his tone. “I have to hope that one of these schools will be a good enough fit or else I’m actually going to lose my mind. So I need you to help me figure this out. I need your advice because, if nothing else, at least you’re actually on _my side_. I’m so tangled up at this point that I can’t even tell if—”

 _If I’m on my own side anymore,_ Davey doesn’t say, cutting himself off before he can finish the thought. But Jack looks at him like he knows exactly what Davey was about to say, his expression turning sad and maybe a little angry.

“And you really think that’s what’s best?” Jack asks, voice rough with disbelief and displeasure.

“What else is there to do?” Davey replies, helpless.

Jack’s mouth flattens out into a harsh, thin line, jaw clenched. He stares down at the letter from earlier, then at the rest of the stack, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. He picks one up and at first Davey can’t tell if he’s going to finally open it, or if he’s just going to rip it in half.

Instead, he says, “We could run.”

“...What?” Davey whispers.

Jack turns to him, and the look in his eyes is like nothing Davey’s ever seem before: almost fever bright, threaded with urgency and realization, and speckled with warmth and hints of promise.

“Run away with me, Dave,” Jack says. “Let me take you away from all’a this. We’ll hit the road, drive ‘til the pavement ends, ‘til we’re far away from all these expectations and plans and supposed to’s. Because it’s crushing you. It’s making you _fucking miserable_ , and if distance is what you need to find steady ground and make a choice for your own sake, that’s actually about _you_ and what _you_ want? Then I’m your ticket outta town.”

“Jackie...” Davey says, utterly floored. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, stuttering with something like anticipation and fear and terrible, terrible longing. “Jackie, that’s not… We _can’t.”_

“And why can’t we?”

 _“Because_ ,” Davey insists, because one of them has to be reasonable. “Because, we can’t just pack up and _leave_. It’s the middle of the semester, we’ve got another three months of school left, we’re supposed to graduate, and _fuck_ , can you even imagine the fallout? My parents would kill me, just hunt me down and _murder me_ if I left.”

“I’m still not hearin’ any reasons not to,” Jack says, still looking at Davey with those warm, steady eyes.

 _“I_ _just told you—_ “ Davey starts.

“No,” Jack calmly interrupts. “You gave me a bunch of excuses for not going, not reasons. There’s a difference. I’m waitin’ for something more along the lines of ‘my ridiculously long legs make road trips super uncomfortable’ or ‘our friendship won’t survive us traveling together for weeks in close quarters’ or ‘I wouldn’t trust your rusted old Chevy to take us to the state line, let alone any further,’ or how about ‘Jack, _I don’t want to.’_ ”

Davey’s mouth closes with a soft click, swallowing heavily around a sudden lump in his throat.

Jack keeps looking at him, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much to handle, simmering with something quietly fierce. 

“I’m not gonna stand by and watch you kill yourself over a life that you don’t even want. Not anymore. Not when it makes you call me at one in the morning, sounding like the weight of the fucking world’s on your shoulders and you’re terrified to set it down. Not after seven months of watching you waste away right in front of me, moving around like a goddamn shadow, pale as a ghost and hollow inside. Not unless you can look me in the eye right now and tell me that college is what you want. That any of this is gonna make you happy.”

Davey can’t speak. Something’s gone taut in his chest, like a piano wire about to snap. Davey could prevent it. He doesn’t know if he wants to.

Jack leans closer and takes both of Davey’s hands in his own. His palms are warm, or maybe it’s just that Davey’s freezing, has been so painfully cold and lonely these past few months, withering away in the shadow of his parent’s expectations. But the tangle of their fingers threading together is like a balm on Davey’s soul—the spark that reignites the embers of a dying fire.

He’s so tired of being cold.

“I just wanna know that you’ll be happy,” Jack says after a moment—softly, like he’s afraid he might shatter Davey if he speaks any louder, sending the broken shards of him scattering into nothingness. Davey’s not sure he’s wrong. “And I know you, David, and this isn’t going to make you happy.”

“This is crazy,” Davey breathes out, and it’s not what he means to say but it’s what comes out, regardless. “It’s... Jack, this is _insanity_.”

“Who cares about what’s sane?” Jack says. “Fuck sanity.”

“ _Jackie._ ”

“Tell me you’re happy,” Jack says, and the gentleness of the command doesn’t make it any less compelling. “Tell me you’re happy, that you think you’ll be happy with all’a this, and I’ll drop it. I’ll drop it right this second, I swear.”

Davey’s eyes slip shut. He breathes in and breathes out, feeling his ribs pressing against that band in his chest, the last pieces of it holding fast.

“You know this isn’t what you want,” Jack continues. “You’ve known right from the start that this isn’t what you want, you just wouldn’t admit it. But you gotta finally put yourself first for once, Davey. You gotta figure out what’s best for _you,_ and you can’t do that here, not with everything that’s weighing you down.”

In and out. In and out.

“Please, Dave,” Jack murmurs. “ _Please_.”

And the wire _snaps_.

“Okay,” Davey says, fingers tightening around Jack’s, his lone anchor as the world tilts out from underneath him. “Okay.”

“You’ll—?”

“Let me pack a bag,” Davey agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Come hang out with me on tumblr! I tend to update far more often over there with little snippets, blurbs, and other ideas! Or you can come scream at me... :D @LiveSincerely


	14. Run Away with Me Fic [Excerpt 2]

“Just because I’ve lost control of my life doesn’t mean you have to give up yours,” Davey says.

“You ain’t lost control of your life,” Jack says, which is so incredibly untrue and so thoroughly _not the point_ that Davey could almost scream in frustration. “You barely had a life to lose control of—it got stolen from you months ago.”

“Jackie,” Davey says, determined to stay on track. “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it. These two weeks have been like something out of a daydream, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for giving me all this. But I can’t let you sacrifice everything you’ve worked towards for me—that’s not fair to you.”

“Davey,” Jack says, already shaking his head. “I’m not sacrificing anything I can’t live without. I want to be here, with you.”

“You say that now,” Davey counters. “But a few weeks from now? A few _months?_ You’ll regret all the time you wasted worrying about me when you realize what you’ve lost, I know you will, and I can’t risk—” 

Davey cuts himself off, biting his lip. 

He takes a breath, recenters, then carefully continues with, “So, we should just stop this now, while it’s not too late. We can turn around, head back home, beg forgiveness... and go back to our lives.”

“Is that what you want?” Jack asks quietly.

“It’s what’s best,” Davey says, with far more confidence than he feels. “We can’t run forever, so we might as well save ourselves the heartache.”

Jack doesn’t respond for a long time—long enough that Davey thinks he’s not going to acknowledge what he said at all. But then he lets out a soft, whispering sigh.

“Do you remember freshman year, when my dad got outta prison?” Jack asks. 

Davey's head whips around to stare at him, eyes wide. But Jack’s hands are perfectly steady on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed out on the sprawling highway before them.

Suddenly uncertain, Davey says, “Of course I do.”

“Then you remember how bad it was, right?” Jack continues, and it’s only the tone of his voice—too perfectly controlled and even—that gives away the depth of his feelings. “How I fell apart, just absolutely raging at everyone and everything, all the time? I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate. I stopped turning in assignments, then stopped going to class altogether, because what was the point? What was the point in anything, in pretending to even try, if they were just gonna give me back to my old man?”

“I remember,” Davey says softly, and he does. 

He remembers it like it was yesterday, the worry and fear that welled up inside him, watching Jack spiral and sink under the weight of it all, how utterly useless he’d felt watching his best friend struggle and suffer. It’d been absolute hell. 

“You held me together, Dave,” Jack says. “I wouldn’t have made it through that year without you.”

“Yes, you would’ve—”

“No, Davey, I’m serious,” Jack insists, and even at this angle Davey can see that his mouth is set, grim and solemn, across his face. “If you hadn’t’a been there, I’m not sure what woulda happened. Because the others… they love me and they tried their best, but you were just… you were fucking incredible. You put up with all my mood swings, kept me from doin’ anything irreversibly stupid—and god knows I considered doin’ all kinds of stupid shit back then, just desperate and panicking. Half the time you knew what I needed even before I did, and when you didn’t you would sit there and listen and help me figure it out, or just keep me company when I couldn’t stand to be alone with my thoughts but also didn’t wanna be around anyone.”

“What, did I not count as someone?” Davey says, and he’s trying for a bit of levity, but the effect is ruined by the rasp in his voice.

Jack looks at him. It’s just a brief meeting of their eyes before he looks back at the road, but it feels weighted, a deliberate contact: like how it feels to have an arm thrown around your waist or a hand pressed against the space between your shoulder blades. 

“You ain’t someone,” Jack says, the words ringing with warmth. “You’re more than just _someone_. You’re _Davey_.”

Before Davey can come up with any kind of response to this declaration, Jack continues with, “You were there for me. Not ‘cause you had to be, but because I needed my best friend to drag me, limping and sweating and bleeding and crying, through the worst year of my life. Because you loved me enough to make sure I got through it, no matter what. That’s what you told me, remember? That you were gonna get me through the year, even if you had to carry me along on your back?”

Davey nods, helpless to do anything else, his voice trapped somewhere in the back of his throat.

“So the only way I’m wastin’ my time now is if _you_ were wastin’ _your_ time back then,” Jack says, each syllable crisp and concise. “And, well, I wouldn’t blame you for thinkin’ that, but—”

It comes tearing out of him: “You are not a _waste of my time—!”_

“And you aren’t a waste of mine,” Jack smoothly interjects, and he’s smirking, just a little, because he’s an asshole. “Glad we could agree on that one.”

Davey blinks at the side of Jack’s head, realizing, finally, that he’s been thoughtfully outmaneuvered. For several minutes there’s nothing but blur of open fields on either side of the road, the wide expanse of endless blue sky above them.

“This is different,” Davey says, once he thinks he can manage the words. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better about it, but we both know this is different.”

“Don’t seem so different to me,” Jack says calmly. “Seems like we’re both making sure the other gets taken care of, however that has to happen.”

“It’s different,” Davey insists. “You needed someone to lean on during a rough patch, I’m dragging you across the fucking country. You’re putting your whole life on hold for me.”

“I would argue that _I’m_ the one draggin’ _you_ across the country,” Jack says. “You ain’t exactly puttin’ a gun to my head—”

“Stop pretending like this isn’t a big deal!” Davey shouts, and the outburst takes them both by surprise. “Jack, you have to see that this is— That this isn’t just—”

“David,” Jack says, and there’s a world of feeling in just that one word. “You’re not gonna be able to talk me out of this. Because you were hurting. Because they were _crushing you._ Because you needed to get away from all of that and someone had to drive the getaway car. Because you needed someone to push you to go and keep you from talking yourself into a life of misery, because that’s what this is, you know? This is you feeling guilty about stealing even a _fucking second_ of your happiness back, and I’m not gonna let them have you again until you can tell me that you actually want to go home, not just that you think you should.”

“You stayed,” Davey whispers. “Back then, with everything… you stayed. I made sure that you stayed.”

“And that’s why I needed you: to anchor me, to keep me steady.” Jack says. “But Dave, if they weighed you down with any more chains, you’d sink right through the ground. It’s different on the surface, yeah, but not at the heart of it. Not where it counts.” 

Jack reaches over and places his hand over Davey’s, giving it a gentle squeeze, then leaves it there—their hands curled together over the console.

“Let me take care of you the way you took care of me, okay?” Jack continues softly, carefully. “Let me be the place where you hide, at least for a little while.”

Davey stares down at their joined hands for what feels like an eternity—until his vision goes blurry and his eyes start to sting—feeling at once horribly guilty and terribly, terribly grateful. 

With a shaky exhale, he squeezes back.

“Okay,” Davey says quietly, because there’s nothing else to be said in the face of all that is Jack Kelly. “At least for a little while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this on tumblr a while ago but I totally forgot to post it here too. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Come hang out with me on tumblr @LiveSincerely :D


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